


The Gold and the Black

by itsaquinnquinnsituation



Series: X Years Later [19]
Category: Newcastle (2008)
Genre: Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 16:03:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4442201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsaquinnquinnsituation/pseuds/itsaquinnquinnsituation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>…into eternity and until the end of our time, the night will come to take over the day, the day will come to follow the night, repeating again and again, time after time, the gold and the black, the black and the gold, perfectly opposite and absolutely inseparable, because each is so recognised when it is contrasted with the other, and neither can be defined standing alone, for the beauty of their particularity can only be appreciated when they are together…</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gold and the Black

**Author's Note:**

> None of the characters or the plot of the original movie belong to me. I am not making money off my work, which is written for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> This is my universe and exactly how I see it. Writing should be enjoyed, not judged.
> 
> Sorry for the delay! I rated this as mature to be on the safe side though it's nothing but innuendo all over.
> 
> I'd say it's about 7 years later, but my guess is this type of thing is kind of timeless and routine. 
> 
> I highly recommend everyone to watch this movie.

****

 

 

The Gold....

 

 

“Fuck!”

Tonight he’s just had it. 

It was nothing new, really, just the same goddamn story all over again. The meeting was *supposed to* end at five, and he was *going to* draft up the notes tomorrow morning, but this and that happened, some people just couldn’t be made to shut up, and here he was stuck in the seven-thirty traffic. Yeah. He slaps his open palm so hard on the wheel, it actually hurts. He clenches it in a fist then, then yanks at his tie and fights an urge to punch out the horn. It isn’t going to help, of course. 

“I’m stuck in traffic” – he voice-texts Andy. 

“No worries” – A reply comes just moments after, - “I need to go to the grocery store anyway.”

Yeah.

Whatever.

It’s more than likely a lie. 

Andy is about the most honest and most genuine person Fergus has ever known, but in situations like this, Andy lies. For all Fergus knows, Andy had probably already made dinner and is now sitting on the taburette at the kitchen table with one of his magazines, listening for his footsteps, to come bolting off of it to greet him at the front door. But now, he’ll probably pick up those magazines and go into the living room and sprawl himself on the sofa, only to come back to the kitchen in a few minutes to re-heat the food. He’d never tell Fergus the truth about any of it, of course, because he wouldn’t want to make him feel bad. So he’d tell him a white lie instead. Or, he really would go to the store, but with no particular purpose, more so to pass the time. Or he’ll go run some overdue errands. Do some laundry that doesn’t really yet need to be done. Anything to distract himself. Fergus isn’t actually there to see him do all that, but when he gets home, he sees the effects. That’s how he knows.

When he finally turns onto the road that leads into the parking lot of their building, the sun is preparing to set. He fumes:

“Goddamn it.”

He may not always find words to describe it, but he sorely misses the daylight. He drives in to work when the sun is about to or just in the process of awakening, depending on what season it is, but he rarely has a chance to exit his office building during the day, so he hardly sees any natural light. He squints a lot when if he ever goes out to walk with Andy over the weekends and Andy smiles and hands him one of the many pairs of sunglasses Fergus owns. Andy himself doesn’t really own any. He borrows Fergus’ here and there but he doesn’t really need them. His eyes are used to the sun. The sun permanently lives in them, making them so bright, so iridescent, so joyful. 

Fergus bites his lip hard as he drives into the parking lot because his elderly neighbour had taken his spot. Fergus had allowed him to do that whenever he wants, of course – the man has a disability - and all Fergus has to do is find a place on the side of the road, but it can be quite a hassle and tonight is not the night he wants to waste another minute driving. So he clenches his fist again, turns the car, and, pressing his lips, prepares to parallel park.

And then he sees Andy.

Andy is just walking up to their house, grocery bags in tow, his light blue swim trunks and Fergus’ old white V-neck, grey flip-flops that once were white, his face serene, eyes looking right in front of him, but right through. He isn’t even listening to any music. He is just lost in his thoughts. And he must be thinking about something pleasant, because a faint shadow of a smile is playing on his lips. 

He does that a lot. Fergus could never understand how he does it. Fergus himself, the more introverted one of the two by popular opinion, cannot go ten minutes without needing distraction. He listens to the news on the way to work. He listens to Moby on the way home. He turns the telly on as soon as he steps into their flat. And when he goes jogging, he most certainly brings his phone. But Andy doesn’t. If Andy didn’t need to be so attuned to Fergus’ changes in schedule, he probably wouldn’t even own a phone. He would just be popping by his friends’ houses unannounced like people used to do back in the day. Like he frequently did when they were still in their teens. That’s why walking twenty-five minutes home from the grocery store is totally alright with him, and Fergus thinks that Andy’s inner world must be a truly fascinating place if it can keep him entertained like that.

The setting sun plays in Andy’s hair, making it golden, almost setting it on fire. Back in the day, Fergus remembers, back when they were not quite there yet, before he even went off to uni, one day they were laying on the beach, in the morning sun, Andy on his back, gazing into the baby blue of the sky, his long curled up lashes half-covering his eyes – and everything Fergus could be paying attention to was him - so he was watching him, having already secured his permission on that fateful night some months ago – admiring the perfect bronze of his tan, the obviously European sharp features of his face, his cheek bones, his lips, when a thought suddenly blazed through his mind and he reached out his hand, without thinking, and ran his fingers gently through Andy’s hair:

“You highlight it?”

“Whaaaat?”

Andy lifted himself up on his elbow and turned over to him, and Fergus jerked his hand back as if burnt, heart jumping up into his throat. He could still feel the softness of Andy’s hair on his fingers, but the unexpected, unintended, but oh-so-longed for, intimate gesture left him nearly petrified with embarrassment. 

But Andy was just smiling. His soft, sweet, gentle, lightly amused smile.

“Y-your hair?”

“H-what?”

“It’s just… it’s not really… it’s not actually blond…well like… like the…”

Oh God, he was making it so much worse, but his mind was flashing white lights for a second and he found himself blinded into a stupor.

But Andy just laughed:

“No, doofus, it’s from the sun. The sun, then the water, it all just… bleaches it.”

Well, duh. Jesse’s hair was the same way, wasn’t it? Much lighter in the warmer months. Nathan’s, Scotty’s… No, Scotty was a different thing, because Scotty actually does bleach his hair even now. And Fergus knows that because he noticed a broken carton of hair dye in his bathroom when they were all once at Scotty’s house. And Scotty is the only blond one in his family.

Andy smiled again, then laid back down, and as if to prove some point he was subtly making, all but placed his head in Fergus’ lap, so that his bleached out mane spread out on the sand right next to him. He closed his eyes and, after moments of struggle, Fergus reverted to staring at him. At some point, he hesitantly extended his hand out and touched the blond tips of Andy’s hair again. He hoped to God that Andy couldn’t feel it, because if he did, Fergus would be at a total loss for explanation. Other than the truth, of course, which was that he just couldn’t resist. 

 

Now he all but freezes in his car, staring at Andy, and Andy must feel his look at some point, because he lifts up his head, notices him and breaks out in a smile. Fergus waves at him, awkwardly, and proceeds to park his car. Meanwhile Andy, instead of actually going up the stairs and opening the door, walks right past them and towards Fergus’ car. He does not bother one bit to hide his excitement and Fergus fails to hold in his smile as well. 

“I found some of that squiggly pasta that you like” – He points with his eyes at the grocery bag in his hand, - “You know the one we thought they no longer carried?”

“Oh?”

He smells like salt and the setting sun shines through his hair, making it glow, to the point of giving him a halo. Fergus doesn’t hug him, but not just because Andy’s hands are full. He feels that if he touches him right then, it might lead to disaster. So he immediately turns to walk to the door.

“And I picked up some tomatoes, we were almost out, and…”

Andy keeps on chirping excitedly behind his back as Fergus almost runs across the road, down the sidewalk and up to the front door.

“…some to my Mum and the rest to the neighbour…”

Fergus’ hands shake as the key scrapes the hole. The last rays of sun shine onto the gold-tinted doorknob, sending reddish orange splotches dancing across his field of vision. Andy parks himself on the stair behind him, oblivious to everything and continuing to chatter.

Fergus feels himself almost break out in sweat when the keyhole finaly gives in and he pushes open the door. Andy, by the sounds of the rustling bags, prepares to follow him inside, but instead, Fergus turns around, grabs him over the ribs, all but lifts him up the last stair, and then shoves him in through the front door. 

“Wha…?” – Andy exhales a surprised laugh, but then just about chokes on it, as Fergus shuts him up with his mouth. His body is so bloody warm, hot, even, and he runs his hand through Andy’s hair, pushing him through the hall into the livingroom. 

“Amrr..” – Andy meows out, struggling weakly to disconnect, but Fergus cannot give two fucks just then even if he wants to, and if he registers Andy’s protest for a second, he gets his explanation a moment later when he hears the noise of the grocery bags hitting the floor as Andy’s hands come up to grasp at his waist, yanking his shirt hem out of his trousers.

 

Some time afterwards Fergus realises that they have not even made it into the bedroom. Andy’s looking utterly out of it, sprawled on his back, running the tips of his fingers absent-mindedly over Fergus’ back. Thank God Andy did not leave his magazines on the sofa. That would have lead to their demise. 

Fergus watches him, his gorgeous face, his bleached out hair, and the sun has long since gone down, of course, but for whatever reason, the small lamp is on, on the side table, and it dowses Andy in its warm golden glow. And he glows. Through the beads of sweat on his perfect tanned skin, his moist lips and his grey eyes, which he now lazily opens, he glows. 

He smiles, but a soft, almost sheepish smile, as he attempts to hoist himself up on the couch cushion without dislodging Fergus too much, but failing to do so, just looks up and over at him:

“I hope you…” – an embarrassed smile splits his face and he falters.

“Hwhat..?” – Fergus exhales crawling up his chest.

Andy lifts his hand off Fergus’ back and motions vaguely at the hallway:

“I hope you… managed to close the front door, at least…”

“Oh God…” – Fergus laughs, burying his face in Andy’s chest.

“Yeah, because… otherwise, the whole neighbourhood is going to know the kinds of things you do here…”

“The whole neighbourhood already knows” – Fergus lifts his head in defiance, giving him a look, - “And I’m pretty damn proud of it, I am…”

“Oh?…ow!!” – Andy snickers as Fergus slides his fingers up his ribs, tickling him and watching him writhe. 

And the rest is a mess of laughter, kisses, and the kind of feeling that leaves Fergus perfectly comfortable with missing out on sunshine, because somehow he doesn’t think that he does.

 

 

 

...and the Black.

 

 

“…yeah, and then…”

“…uwhhh…”

Andy quietly sighs, leaning onto the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He is trying very hard to hide his annoyance. He rarely – extremely rarely - gets annoyed, but tonight is one of those nights. It’s July. It’s cold. And it’s been raining the whole fucking day.

In winter Andy tends to pick up waiter shifts here and there and sometimes he gets called in as a substitute physical education teacher. It’s alright with him, of course, though he would much rather teach physics or astronomy. He likes flexibility – there’s that – for, one of his top priorities is to conform his schedule to Fergus’, but the downside to it all is that sometimes he has days like this. 

Somehow, all of the lads either didn’t have to work at all or finished their shifts early. Andy stood around all morning aimlessly wiping already clean tables in the bistro before a coworker came to put him out of his misery, but even then it was still three p.m. and there were still several hours left until Fergus was to come home. 

Nathan showed up to pick him up in his car and he hopped into the back seat with Scotty who was in a very bad mood and really hoping to get drunk, and in fact, he pestered them all and whined for so long, that they actually did end up stopping by a liquor store and picked up a few crates of beer – if anything, just to shut him up. 

They unloaded their crowd at Nathan’s residence. Beer tops went popping, a TV show was put on, but through all of it, the only thing Andy could focus on was the rain outside, coming down in a nasty drizzle, thick clouds hanging low in the sky, having suddenly made the whole world so dark and small…

And so now, though apathy is hanging heavy in Nathan’s small livingroom, none of them - Andy, Jesse, Scotty, Nathan, his flatmate Nick, or Luke, the lad Andy met through the surfing league – really have anything else to do. They had already gone through most of their beer hoping it would help them have fun, but it left Scotty bitchy, Nick - gloomy and grim, and Luke – exhausted, so it was just the three of them – Nathan, Jesse and Andy, standing by the window, away from the others, and engaged in an excuse of a conversation. 

Nathan is talking, but Andy had lost track of that story a long time ago. He doesn’t mind though – he’s pretty sure he’s heard it already. The problem with hanging out with the same people all the time is that you have only so much to talk of. Jesse is shifting from foot to foot, looking over the two of them, aquamarine eyes concerned and pissy. So, Nathan must be talking about a surfing competition. 

Nah, none of them really knows what the fuck to do with themselves when it’s not daytime, hot and sunny. They live off of sunshine. Sunshine means fun, ocean, lack of giving two fucks, girls in bikinis, tankinis or skinny dipping. Sunshine means jobs, too, because as tourists start flooding Newcastle beach, a bunch of positions open up for the locals. But when night comes, or when it’s raining, it kind of does die down quite a bit on the beach. And from the looks of it now, the rain outside is making it an early night as the final bits of light disappear, leaving them in flimsy twilight. 

Nathan keeps on yapping and Jesse keeps on staring at him, now with a murderous glare, so Andy quietly retires into his thoughts. He remembers, how, when he was a kid, he could keep himself entertained with his playstation and science books for hours if it was raining. He is an only child so he learnt how to have himself occupied early on. Then, as he became older, videogames began to bore him, physics textbooks became too easy, the lads he played with turned too competitive under the influence of the hormones, so, slowly, he began to hate the nights and the rain. 

But then came Fergus. 

And Fergus knew the night very well. He knew the rain very well, too. 

Fergus was enchanted by the night. It invigorated him as though he were a vampire. Together they had conversations deep in the wee hours, in fact, they pulled many all-nighters, talking, looking at books, watching documentaries, and, sometimes, just laying on the bed, letting their hands touch innocently, just being together. Fergus would re-tell him some of the books he’s read, recite poetry by heart, adamantly outline all his ambitions for the future. His black eyes would burn with hypnotic fire as he gestured expansively, having transformed from a sad, bullied gothic teen into an intelligent young man, full of big dreams and hopes. And Andy saw it even then, of course. He saw what Fergus could be. What he truly already was, under that fragile, distorted shell…

 

“..and what are you smiling about?!”

Andy does not even realise at first that the question is directed at him, much less that he was smiling, but Jesse is looking at him with those blazing blue eyes, cold like a blade of a knife. Andy must have smiled at the wrong moment, so he is just about to take a step back, raise up his hands in defence and apologise, when a small commotion occurs at the front of the house and in marches Fergus, followed by an irritated Nick. 

Fergus’s gotten caught in the rain, but only barely so – he must have rudely stopped his car a mere couple of metres from Nathan’s front door – a sign that he’s not planning on staying. His hair is wet and he shakes his long fringe out of his eyes, sending a few drops flying right into Nick’s face, who grumbles again, falling into the sofa.

Fergus does not waste time inquiring into the situation. He couldn’t care less about what they were doing. Beer cans, porno magazines, video games – he doesn’t give a fuck. He’s only here for one reason.

His eyes quickly skim the room, arresting on Andy. And – they lock. He’s found his target. He doesn’t even blink as he proceeds towards the three of them, still frozen by that window. Jesse tries to interject, to return their attention back to their conversation, but Nathan is already distracted, and Andy’s mind is now completely somewhere else. All he sees is Fergus’ eyes. Pitch black in the dim light of the only working bulb on the ceiling. Bottomless. Magnetic. Aimed at him like a mouth of a gun. 

 

Revolver eyes.

 

“We were just…” – Jesse now tries to physically block his brother from approaching Andy, but Fergus hardly seems to notice him. He proceeds to stop right next to his boyfriend and only then blinks and nods, allowing his lips to produce a very faint smile. 

Andy wants to say something, tries to say something, anything not to let them on just how much power this lad has over him, but suddenly Nathan precedes him:

“By the way, have you…?”

“Yes” – Fergus turns to him just briefly and hands him a disc, - “On here.”

“Oh, thanks, mate!” –Nathan looks genuinely happy for the first time that day and Andy is about to wonder why, when Fergus once again turns to him and lightly motions with his head:

“Ready?”

Andy, back in the gravitational field of the irresistible black holes of Fergus’ eyes, feels his lips stretch in a smile. He can’t look away and everything in the periphery of his vision goes grey.

Jesse just about jumps right then, snow-white jealousy having washed over his eyes like a tsunami wave:

“We…”

Fergus ignores him:

“Let’s go.”

He turns and takes a few steps, Andy following him mechanically, out of habit, when Jesse yanks the latter by the arm, yapping:

“Your sweater!”

“Wh… where’s it?” – Andy exhales and takes a step back. Fergus turns around and raises his brow. Andy responds to him with a small shrug. Yes, there are days Jesse would do just about anything to keep him around. Days when it rains, like it’s been raining today.

Jesse actually does lift a grey sweater, that Andy’s all forgotten about, off an armchair and proffers it to him, but before Andy has a chance to take it, Fergus yanks it out of his brother’s hands:

“Give me that. Let’s go. The car’s right by the door and it’s running.”

Andy immediately starts walking. He doesn’t even register it. Fergus says it, and Andy does it. That’s how it goes. And it drives Jesse mad. 

“We were actually right in the middle of…” – He lunges at Fergus.

Fergus doesn’t even blink but raises an open palm up as warning:

“We’ll see you tomorrow” – Then nods at Nathan, - “Bye.”

Nathan nods him goodbye in return, as does Nick, gruffly. Scotty just stares. Luke is asleep.

In the car, Fergus shakes his hair out, tosses Andy’s sweater at him, then puts the car in drive. Only then, he *really* smiles. And Andy laughs to himself.

 

Those lads don’t know shit, he thinks. They say things like ‘how the hell do you let him do that?’ and frown and press their lips. It’s like they don’t remember the days when Fergus followed him around like a puppy, gazing at him as if he were God, ready to do anything to please him. So then, what happened? 

What happened is too long to explain, but it suffices to say that it was all slowly leading up to this, and it finally became *this* the night they actually – really – did it. Then, everything changed. Their adorable tender friendship turned into nothing short of obsession. The tables were turned and everything fell into its place. Like everything was where it was meant to be all along. Andy has never cared for being a leader, for winning, for having people look up to him. But Fergus did. He always did, apparently. He enjoys it. A lot. And Andy prefers to just go with the flow. He follows. That’s how it works. Well, usually…

Because – it’s not all that. Not always. Not just quite.

When they get home, it’s a steady downpour and Fergus curses as they run through the parking lot. He shivers, opening the door. 

“I think we should order some Chinese take out and…” – He starts, stepping in and slugging his briefcase into the corner, but just then, Andy slithers past him, like a shadow:

“Not yet..,” – and pulls him inside.

“Alright, so what do you feel like?” – Fergus reaches for the light switch on the wall, but Andy swats his hand away:

“Don’t…”

“Huh…?” – He looks at Andy, surprised, but Andy interrupts him:

“Don’t turn it on…”

“Wh…?”

“Don’t turn the light on,” – He repeats, and to emphasize his point, lightly pulls Fergus away from the switch and towards the opposite wall. He feels him shiver. And he smiles inwardly because he knows it’s not from the cold. Fergus has caught onto the game. One of his favourite games, at that. He grabs Andy and presses him into the wall. Kisses him for some time, enough time for the cold drops of rain on his shirt to have turned to lava, then pulls away for just a few moments to whisper breathlessly into his ear:

“What do you want?”

Andy considers it for a few moments, letting his wicked cat smile torture Fergus for a bit, then tells him. And they do that.

And Andy thinks, lost in the streetlights reflected in the blackness of Fergus’ eyes, that he rather enjoys the night too. He loves it. In fact, laying there in his boyfriend's arms, he thinks that being enveloped in the soft dark velvet of the night might be his favourite pastime of all...

 

 

****


End file.
